


Doughnuts of a Fascist Order: SoC 2.5 / 3

by Gallusadin



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallusadin/pseuds/Gallusadin
Summary: Stream of consciousness writing as an experiment, unfinished, unedited. An Italian mother enjoys the solitude of morning baking, and an absolutely failed attempt at dystopian writing goes nowhere.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The doughnuts sizzled as Maria lowered them into the oil. This was her favorite time of the day, the making. The quiet before the door opened with faces and voices. She was up before the sun, and made good company out of the sounds of early morning. Humming a pleasant tune and wiping her hands on the yellow floral apron she wore, Maria leaned back against the wooden counter top and took it all in. Her kitchen. Her family's house was not a large one, though it often held many people; of old brick construction and low to the ground, but very warm. Rivaled only by an extensive dining room, the kitchen dominated the house, and it in she ruled. Pots and pans of indeterminable age hung from hooks that lined the walls, a vast steel vat connected to the well outside served as a considerable sink, and an enormous cast iron oven stood tall against the far wall. A large crescent window opened up the space into the garden outside, and permitted the natural flow of air and sound. 

Food and family were the most important aspects of life in her culture, and she stood at the convergence of those two realities and made from them a place of comfort and joy for all who walked in through the front door. Closing her eyes and taking in the blended sounds of bubbling dough and awakening birds. Maria couldn’t help but smile as she ran through the inevitable routine of the day in her mind. Soon the smell of baked breakfast would awaken the two young ones, who would run into the kitchen with an energy and enthusiasm for life that Maria knew kept her young. Following close behind would be her Alejandro, her love; the cherished motivation who kept their larder full, and her heart warm. If only he too could be dredged from his sleep before the dawn of day, she thought giggling; but no, his work was hard, and his sleep was needed. Grandma and Grandpa would surely come by for tea in the mid-morning, as it was Saturday after all.

A full, warm house and splendid food. She was blessed, she had decided; turning her eyes to the cross that hung from above the doorway. Thanking God for the simple joy of life, Maria placed a hearty skillet of sausages and strips of bacon over a simmering fire. The smells and sounds of a complete home, and a universe in harmony. Life is good. 

Many minutes passed, and the lazy sun had finally graced the sky with its rays. Bacon and eggs and Maria's famous powdered doughnuts lined a large wooden table. Setting water to boil for tea, she heard a stirring in the bedrooms across the house. 

The day was about to begin.


	2. Failed Fascism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dead end attempt at writing a dystopian scene.

It looked like a shell, half buried, but as she dug through the sand around its edges, she found it was something completely different, something she’d never seen before and thought only existed in stories. She had to be imagining things. Elsa sprung up from the bleached white shore of what had once been Californian coastline, and turned the strange rectangular artifact reverently in her hands; tenderly running her fingers over an array of long faded buttons and blowing sand from the deep scratches in the screen. Deep, low, tremendously loud alarms tore Elsa from her absentminded musings, and, realizing her folly, took off in a dash for the school yard; dusting off what sand remained on the forest green skirt of her issued uniform. She wasn’t supposed to be out by the water, least of all alone; but such an usual occurrence stirred that independent spirit the Counselors of Proper Behavior and Thought spent long nights banging their heads against tables trying to correct. A treasure too good to pass up, and nobody would notice.

Stuffing the artifact into her pocket, Elsa ducked a gap in the security fence and effortlessly melded once more into the mass of green khaki clad students and navigated her way through the halls of the C.F.M School for Intermediate Thought. A gargantuan building of ice white marble and ice cold steel. Imposing arches and bridges adorned in glass interconnected the various octagonal facilities used for housing and educating the future citizens of the nation. The only defiant color that differentiated from the otherwise uniform mosaic of whites and grays was green. Deep, dark, stagnant green, almost oppressive in the manner in which it sucked up light. Abstract murals of angular green patterns sprawled the courtyard, and tall fences of green chain link surrounded the campus, ensuring both the safety, and security, of the students. 

Elsa cared little for safety, or security, and was dreadfully bored with the strict schedule imposed by the school administrators, or “ Good Ones” as they were to be called. The goal of every young mind at the C.F.M, and elsewhere in the nation, was to become a Good One. Admired by all for your moral purity and rightness of thought.


End file.
